


Impurity

by anakincanchokemethanks



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Anakin Skywalker is a Little Shit, Biting, Blood, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, Breeding, Choking, Consensual Sex, Cussing, Death, Divorce, Drinking, Drunkenness, F/M, Face Slapping, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Hair-pulling, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Knives, Light Bondage, Masturbation, Murder, Oral Sex, Organized Crime, Orgasm Denial, References to Depression, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sex, Slapping, Smoking, Unhealthy Relationships, Vanilla, Violence, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:34:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27429526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anakincanchokemethanks/pseuds/anakincanchokemethanks
Summary: "𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝑰 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕? 𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐'𝒔 𝒔𝒐... 𝑰𝒎𝒑𝒖𝒓𝒆?""𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕'𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒚 𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑, 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓."---Anakin Cielo, is the Don of the Cielo family--a family who's profession is underworld crime, much more specifically, organized crime.In his world, there's nothing else except his family and his profession that matters to him. Except, when the Mancini family decides to take matters into their own hands, Anakin attempts to save the five families in New York by holding a meeting with the five families.Thankfully they come to an agreement, and Anakin settles on a few terms.And one, happened to be you.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Reader, Anakin Skywalker/Reader, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 25
Kudos: 48





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy Mob Boss!Anakin :)
> 
> Also apologies in advance if my Italian isn't the best hehe.

The cigarette hit the ashtray with a hiss, a last puff of smoke fogged out of Anakin's lips as he spoke to the room of Italians and Sicilians sitting at a rather long, wooden oak table, adorned with crystal glasses of expensive brandy and crystal ashtrays that were once sparkling, but now dull due to the littered cigarettes that lie in them.

"And I told you, Mancini, it won't happen again as long as you keep your end of the bargain," Anakin breathed, his eyes sat firmly on the man who sat across from him.

Anakin sat at the head of the table, his finger twisted in the cigarette into the ashtray, looking at Mancini ahead of him.

It was he who started this. This war, this war that had been going on for almost three years now. Yet, despite his actions, he sat smugly, his hand wrapped around his crystal glass of brandy, sipping on it gently as if he were savoring the flavor.

"As long as I keep my end of the bargain? And what would that be, Cielo?" The old man's voice was gravely and full of age and years of smoking cigarettes.

Mancini was _very_ old but didn't look like it, even though he was known to always have a cigarette in his mouth. His grey, silvery hair was thick and greased back, light grey stubble crossed his sharp jaw features and his brown eyes were narrowed at Anakin under his hooded eyelids. He had on a silk, green suit that clung to his body, and a black ascot that was tucked under his white collar. He always wore that damn green suit every time he was in a meeting with the five other Dons.

Anakin spread his hands out, gesturing to the other three men in the room.

"Well, that's what we're here to discuss."

"Mancini!"

Anakin turned his head to Pisani--a stunted fiery old man who was the Don of the Bronx--who slammed his fist on the table, the crystal glasses shook when he had done so.

"I want my territory back. You don't have the right to start a war and then continue to claim my territory, you no-good _imbroglione_!" Pisani shook a pointer finger at him wildly, his teeth gritted and quickly began to stand up but Mancini's bodyguards quickly rushed over to Pisani and pushed him back down in his seat.

Everyone's eyes around the table had widened at Pisani's actions. Sure, they all understood, but it was quite unexpected, even coming from him.

He cleared his throat when he realized his mistakes and tightened his tie in a hope to correct his unprofessionalism.

" _Spiacente,_ " he quickly apologizes before taking a quick drink.

"It's alright, Don. Don't worry, we all have our quarrels with Mancini." Mancini rolls his eyes. "So let's discuss then, shall we?"

"I suppose..." Mancini mumbles, lifting the glass to his lips once again before taking another swig.

"Good. Now, I suppose on that note, Don Pisani, would you like to go first?" Anakin turns his head to the short bald man in the brown silk suit.

"Yes, I would. Thank you." He turns to Mancini.

"Mancini, you owe me my territory. You and your men had swarmed my area, taking up my drug stores and clubs. I don't like it, Mancini. It's making me and _la famiglia_ feel uneasy. "

"Well," Mancini sat up in his chair and folded his hands on the deep brown table. "What would you like me to do, Pisani? You want me to pull my family out of there? Make them jobless?"

Pisani nodded. "Yeah, that's exactly what I want you to do, Don. If you want, when my people are back and owning those shops, we'll give you twenty percent of the profit, if you want. Is that what you want?"

Mancini rubbed his chin for a few seconds. "Twenty-five."

"Done. That should be enough to get your family back on track. Don't want to see the family like that, Mancini."

Mancini chuckles softly, a soft grin appeared on his lips. " _Grazie_ , Don. I wouldn't want to see your family like that either."

" _Bene!_ I guess I'm settled then."

Anakin nods to Pisani before turning to the man who sat across from Pisani: Don Sirvano.

Sirvano was on the younger side. Not as young as Anakin, but possibly in his early forties to mid-forties.

"Sirvano?" Anakin gestures his hand to him then to Mancini.

"You killed my brother, Mancini. I want something to cover that up, in fact, for all of our relatives that you spilled blood over. Something that's going to benefit all of us. I'm tired of this lacking, Mancini. I want something stable. You've been at this for years now--picking and choosing what you want to do when you know that there's an agreement between all of us. You can't keep doing this," he says in his thick Italian accent.

"How about political protection?" Mazzanti suggests, who hadn't spoken up for quite some time.

"No," Mancini shakes his head and nods it towards Anakin. "I don't have that kind of protection. Cielo does, though. His wife is a politician. "

Anakin chuckles, shaking his head. "This is true. Though I don't have too much on the east side, unlike you, Mancini. If I remember correctly, that's your territory, right?"

Mancini nods. "I do, but it's not much. Just part of Queens."

"Fine. How about firepower, protection for all of us across the board?" Sirvano suggests again.

"Done. Anyone else?"

Mazzanti turns to Anakin. "What about you, Cielo?"

Anakin hums, thinking. "I can offer political protection. Nobody won't harm anyone, that is, if everyone keeps up their end of the deal. And also safe houses--places to make exchanges discreetly."

"And in return?"

He taps his pen against his chin, wondering what he would take in return. He hadn't really thought about it.

"I'm not sure."

"Well, how about... How about someone to help you out, eh? How about someone like a... a secretary. "

Anakin blinks, looking at Mancini as if he were mad. "No, I don't think..."

"Ah, come on. Listen, I got a niece, beautiful girl--"

Anakin's eyes widened. "Don, I'm flattered but you know I'm already married--"

" _Listen,_ she's great, she's looking for a job, and this could be a term between us... Y'know... Take care of my niece and I'll take care of you. Hell, I'll even pay her. You won't have to pay shit," Mancini offers, taking a drag off his cigarette.

He sighs, throwing his hands up. "I uh... What the hell, why not? Sure, sounds good enough. I suppose I could use someone to run a few errands for me."

Mancini's face lit up, throwing his hands up into the air. "Ah! See! Exactly. Everything's good. _Bene_!"

He sighs, chuckling before turning his head to Mazzanti, the last man of the night.

"And you? What are your terms, Mazzanti?"


	2. Mio Bambina

" _Mio bambina-_ -"

"Papa, do _not_ call me that, you know I'm over that."

Your father rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. "Fine, I was just trying to remind my daughter that I love her, or is that too much?"

Currently, you sat on your father's lavish couch, flipping through a newspaper to search for possible job offers. You saw a few already, but none of them really seemed to pique your interest.

With a sigh, he sat came from behind the couch and sat down next to you, gently taking the newspaper out of your hands, setting it down on to the rich oak nightstand that stood next to the couch.

"Look, I know you've been hard on yourself, looking for a job and everything..." His eyes glint to the newspaper beside him.

"So, I've gotten some help--"

You narrowed your eyes. "You mean you got _your job,_ involved, didn't you?"

He sighs, your father pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes shut.

He knew you didn't like his _profession,_ or whatever he liked to call it. His, _business._ Every time he would come home, covered in blood, you were mortified.

Well, as a child, anyway. As a child, it was truly shocking to see your father come home and see him covered in head to toe in blood.

At first, it was innocent. Maybe five or six years old, your mother had told you that he had gotten in an accident at work, which was, at first a butcher shop. Then, it changed to a restaurant, it was the spaghetti sauce that time, or some juice, or once again, an accident when cutting meat.

Of course, you believed them. How could you not? You were small, innocent, pure; _candida._

Then, as you grew older, you began to realize that maybe your father wasn't working at a restaurant after all.

You would hear your parents arguing at night while getting up to go get a glass of water, creeping downstairs and sitting at the top of the stairs to peek through the railing just to hear them bicker in the kitchen.

You would hear your mother telling your father to never come home if he came home looking like _that._ As if, being covered in head to toe in spaghetti sauce was such a sin.

Then she began to talk about how the kids shouldn't be seeing it, and if he came home that it should be when the kids were in bed.

It was either that or that he should bring a change of clothes with him.

You kept asking yourself why in the world would being covered in spaghetti sauce or juice be so awful that children couldn't be allowed to see it?

Then, it dawned on you. _Papa was coming home covered in blood._

You knew it couldn't be cow blood, or chicken blood, or pig blood--no, there was something deep down inside of you telling you that it wasn't any of those things. It _had_ to be human blood, it had to be.

Later on, you remembered seeing him take briefcases or duffle-bags to work just about every day. Your eyes would follow those thin, brown, leather cases in his hand as he would walk out the door, kissing his family or waving goodbye while flashing a kind smile to everyone.

That would add up to your confusion, only confirming your suspicions more. _Why would he need a briefcase at a restaurant?_ Unless, he was a manager of some sort, but you knew your father. You were old enough to understand adult conversations, and at Sunday dinners, your father would go on and on relentlessly about the meat in the restaurant.

There was no way he was telling the truth.

Each and every day he came home covered in blood, you began to grow numb and get used to it. You would look up while sitting in the living room watching television with your siblings and see your father come in the front door--clothes, painted in blood--and then you'd blink, not giving it a second thought before turning your eyes back to the T.V.

He'd nod at you and your siblings before walking past the television set to go upstairs and change.

That was probably when you were thirteen or fourteen years old.

But then, everything began to change about two years later.

The blood began to stop.

Instead, he'd come home in expensive suits and with bigger, bulkier suitcases.

He would bring home gifts instead of small nods and short walks to the upstairs.

You thought he must've gotten a different job and cleaned up--but no, he would've bragged about it at the dinner table to mother.

Instead, he had just gotten promoted. He was getting money, quickly, and soon he started owning butcher shops and narcotic stores, and just about every damn shop in town.

Instead of living in some dingy two-story house smushed in a small street in Queens, you began to live in bigger houses in Queens, moving farther and farther out of the inner city's limits--each becoming fancier by the minute.

You began to feel fine, completely forgiving your father of his past nature as you began to collect more and more material items from him, but then one night changed everything.

You remember it like it was yesterday.

You had gotten up in the middle of the night because you had wakened up with an anxiety-ridden feeling, so you went to the bathroom to go relieve yourself when suddenly you were stopped in your tracks after hearing a loud _thud._

It was dark and quiet. You were on the walkway that was connected to the staircase that hung overhead the living room which was dimly lit.

Carefully, like you had when you were a child, you crept down the stairs, placing one foot in front of another slowly, not wanting to creak the wooden boards from underneath your feet.

When you decided that you could now hear what was going on, you sat down on the stairs, and with your heart in your throat, you listened carefully, tuning into the hushed whispers.

_"What do you want us to do with the body?"_

_"Throw it out back. I'll have it hauled out before tomorrow morning, don't worry about it, Johnny."_

Your eyes widened slowly, your heart was racing now, and you knew, you _knew_ that you didn't dare turn your head to see what they were talking about, but _damn it._

You should've kept your head away from the commotion, because you weren't ready for your suspicions to come true.

There, on the floor, in front of the front door, lied a dead body, and behind it lied a trail of blood, along with three men--one of them your father--covered in head to toe in blood, and the body... The body looked _mutilated_.

You could feel tears beginning to brim on the corners of your eyes so quickly you rushed upstairs, surely making a noise for your father to hear downstairs but you didn't care.

You ran up and up, not giving a care in the world that he might've heard you. You just thought that he didn't do any of that stuff anymore, and you believed it. How could you be so naive? How could he shower you in gifts and make you believe that he was a good person?

You felt sincerely betrayed that night and quickly ran to your room and slammed the door, immediately rushing under your covers and falling down into the mattress with wet streaks running down your face, followed by wet, quiet sobs seeping from your chest.

From there, you had vowed to never get involved with your father's business.

The thought of killing someone then simply dumping them--as if they had never lived a life or had a family, raked through your mind painfully, and it tore you apart, knowing that they were now dead--could never, ever, cross your mind as something so simple and doable.

Never.

" _Bambina--"_

"Papa!" You snap, looking at your father who quickly turned his attention to you. "Stop it, right this instant. You know I would _never_ join your stupid... Job, or whatever you call it."

" _Bambina,_ I'm not going to hire you for my job. "

You blinked, confused at your father's wishes. Had you heard him right? Just about every other sibling had been put into his line of work or taken in the family business. Why not you?

"Sorry?"

Your father sighed, shrugging, his hands moved when he talked. "Yes, my... _Job,_ may have gotten involved in you being able to get this position, but it's nothing terrible. "

You felt yourself to begin to relax, and slowly you sank back down into the plush couch.

"Well, what is it then?"

He smiled, opening his arms in a grand gesture as if he were giving you the best news in the world. "You're a secretary!"

You rose an eyebrow, somewhat wary at this. It seemed all too good.

"Secretary? Where?"

Your father lowered his arms, still, a great big smile on his face. "An estate of course!"

You narrowed your eyes and crossed your arms, becoming somewhat defensive at this odd position. " _An estate?_ "

" _Sì!_ An estate. "

"What kind of estate?"

"Oh, you know how estates are..." Your father downcast his eyes, looking away from you, and quickly you sat back up--his tell of lying was too easy, you _knew_ this wasn't some kind of regular job.

"Papa. I'm not going to--"

"Oh please _bambina!_ " Your father clasps his hand over yours and gives it a soft squeeze, his face dropped in expression after your clear statement of not wanting to be apart of any of it. "You have to! Mancini made--"

"Mancini?!" You quickly rose to your feet, furious at your father's partake in this. "Papa I can't--"

And just as your anger began to boil inside of you, your father rose up off of the couch quickly, his hands quickly turned into fists out of pure rage.

"Listen! Mancini made a deal with Cielo! He promised him a secretary, and we offered you to fill the position! It was part of our agreement to stop this family war! The same war that killed your brother!"

Immediately, it felt as if a heavy rock sank to the bottom of your stomach--no, your father wasn't offering you this position, instead, he was telling you that you _had_ to take it. This wasn't a choice.

"You are part of this agreement, _bambina,_ and you can't break away from it. "

You pursed your lips together, downcasting your eyes in thought, your fingers tapped your arm.

You wanted to say no, there was so much of your morality that was willing you to say no, and turn away from this family no matter what, but by god--if it meant saving your _famiglia,_ and having peace for your brother's sake, then you knew you would have to work for whoever this Cielo was.

"Fine. I'll do it. "

Quickly, as if he had never been harsh, your father's angry demeanor faltered, and a kind smile appeared on his face before enveloping you into a warm hug. " _Grazie bambina!_ I promise you, your brother would be so proud. " He pulled away, his hands cupped your face before giving them a soft squeeze, making you giggle slightly. "Now! Go get your things. I'll have Angelo wait for you in the car."

Reluctantly, you left the conversation and went to go pack your things. Despite having all of this pent up anger over your father and his job, and this whole mafia business, you knew it was best for your family.

Eventually, you had all your things packed up and made your way to the car--a long, outstretched, black Coupe sat in the gravel driveway where Angelo had been waiting outside of.

The young man smiled and greeted you before taking your luggage and slipping it inside of the trunk while you got in and sat in the back of the car.

You heard the trunk slam shut and saw Angelo come from the side and sit in the driver's seat.

He turned around and smiled at you, an almost excited smile.

"You excited for your new job, miss?"

You sighed, downcasting your eyes to the floor, not excited at all. Here you were, about to leave your family and work for another family, just as a part of a contract so these families could keep the peace.

"Just drive, Angelo. I'll tell you if I'm excited or not on the way there."


	3. Don Cielo

The drive in the car with Angelo was long and tiresome--driving from one end of New York to the other end was exhausting, though Angelo did keep it somewhat eventful by turning the radio on and also talking to you.

In fact, when the conversation had come up again, you had told Angelo that you weren't excited about it, and weren't ready to leave your family in such a big rush.

To move from Queens to Manhattan in such short notice was daunting already. You weren't ready to live with a whole other family for the rest of this contract's life.

"We're almost there," Angelo says, looking up into the rearview mirror to make eye contact with you and flashes a reassuring smile at you.

You chuckle, making eye contact with the brown-eyed Italian. "Angelo, you keep saying that just about every five to ten minutes."

"Okay, this time I'm serious."

You smile softly, turning your head to look out the window, admiring all of the trees planted next to the sidewalks. "I'll believe it when I see it."

Out of the corner of your eye, there lied a house lying on the outskirts of the city that was inching closer and closer every time the car had made a turn or sped up.

It was a large house, sitting by itself--secluded from the rest of the neighborhood on a large green field of freshly cut grass, fenced off by a large iron gate with cars bustling in and out of the gate quicker than what seemed like the rush hour after everyone would leave from work.

Angelo sped by all the cars leaving the house and made his way around the neighborhood, eventually reaching the secluded house, driving up to the closed iron gate.

You swallowed, looking at the large gate, your eyes tracing over the black points at the top of it and followed down to its side where two men in black suits stood--one at each side of the gate, probably there to guard and keep unwanted visitors out.

You had seen similar places like this before. It was common in your father's line of work. It's not like you could let the police barge in on your front doorstep--you needed some sort of protection.

Among others, your father had his security too. Except, it wasn't as great as this. His was just a simple chain with a few guards at the entrance.

You turned away from your curious stare and looked at Angelo who seemed to be speaking to one of the guards.

"Yeah, I've got Cielo's secretary in the back with me," Angelo says, tilting his head to you.

You shift in your seat and cross your leg over your other one--your nerves getting the best of you.

Ahead of you, you see one of the guards move from their position at the gate and make their way towards your window, the large, suited guard knocked on your window, telling you to roll it down and you quickly follow suit, grabbing the handle of the roller and roll it down to view the large sturdy man in front of you.

The sturdy man stoops down to get to eye level with you. He smiles reassuringly before glancing at a piece of paper in his hand and looking back up at you.

The guard stands up and backs away from the vehicle, waving his hand to what seemed like the rest of the guards. "She checks out! Let them in."

And for some reason, you let out a relieved sigh, even though you knew you shouldn't have been stressed in the first place.

The large iron gate opens up slowly, followed by Angelo nodding to one of the guards before slowly pressing on the gas, the automobile pressed forward, rolling carefully on to the gravel driveway.

Immediately, your mouth opened up in awe as you came into view of the house. Now, only then did you realize when your father called this an _estate._

The driveway opened up into a large green garden--the gravel lined with hedges, rose bushes, circling around a rather large lively fountain--large oak trees cascaded overhead the plants and gravel, providing shade for the gardeners who sat crouched down digging into the soil. Under one tree specifically, lied a small pond with a few wooden benches around it; small children sat on them with fishing rods in their hands and their mothers sitting beside them.

Ahead of the pond was the house--something that was still an amazement to you.

If there was one good thing about working in this job, was that it could make you rake in tons of money.

The house stood tall and wide--probably about three stories--beautiful patterns of earth-toned bricks made up its exterior with what looked like oak lining, and dark wooden railings along the terraces. Big, glass windows stood largely, the sunlight bouncing off the glass in quite the mannered way.

By the looks of the estate, it looked like it was summertime all the time here, though, the state of New York would tell you otherwise; it's cold frigid winters wouldn't let any shrub or tree go without wilting or have it's leaves fall down in the fall.

Shortly, the tour of the large gardens and your view of the house was cut when Angelo pulled up behind a line of black cars--that looked all too similar to yours--and stopped the car, the engine sputtering to a stop.

"Alright, we're here!" Angelo says almost too excitedly.

"Yeah," you mumble, still in awe of the grand house. "We're here."

"You go ahead and head inside, miss. I'll grab your bags and head up to your room, I'm sure the boss is waiting," He tells you while getting out of the car.

_Go ahead and head inside?_ Immediately you feel a rise of panic in you. This area was far too new to just, _go ahead and head inside._ You weren't even sure where to _begin_ looking for Cielo's office. You were sure the inside was going to be bigger than what it looked like on the outside.

Your heart was thumping against your chest and your eyebrows raised, your fingers fiddled with the fabric at the end of your skirt. "Go ahead? How do I know...?"

" _Non ti preoccupare,"_ Angelo shuts his door and walks to your side of the car, squatting down to your eye level. He smiles reassuringly, taking your worried hand from your skirt and giving it a soft squeeze. "You'll be fine. Trust me, just walk in and someone will help you. If not, just ask around. "

A wave of embarrassment washes over you, the temperature in your cheeks began to rise. You look down shamelessly and sigh. "Yes, I suppose I'll be fine. Thank you, Angelo."

He smiles once again before tapping your hand gently. "Of course, _signorina_."

\---

Inside the house was just as intimidating as you thought it would be.

You stepped inside carefully, opening the large oak doors to reveal a grand foyer with a long red rug outstretched in front of you, intricate gold details and flowers laced within the rug. A wooden circular table stood on the rug, adorned with a rather fancy candelabra and various other things that decorated the table.

Each wall was oak or a mix of oak and cherry wood, dark earthy tones were quite apparent in each decoration and engraving in the house. Walls lined with golden framed paintings and the ceiling lined with intricate wooden crown molding. A wooden staircase with burly railings lined the wall to the left, and as you suspected, looked like it went up three stories, and a deep red rug that seemed to match the one on the floor went up the staircase, followed by two children--who apparently had rushed out of what looked like the living room from the right of the foyer--running up the stairs giggling at one another as if they hadn't had a care in the world.

"Children! Children!"

You turn your head to the female voice who was also rushing out of the living room, probably trying to stop them.

"Jesus, I'm getting too old for these kinds of things," she chuckles, taking one step onto the staircase before turning her head to look at you.

Ironically, she didn't look old at all. She looked to be about in her mid to late twenties, her figure was slim and lean. Long, brown, curly locks of hair fell down the sides of her face and deep brown eyes paired with those of her hair. Her face also slim, her bright smile on her complexion gave her the appearance of a rather warm and welcoming person.

"Oh hello!" And her voice also seemed to fit her persona.

"Hi, sorry, I didn't see you come in! You must be his new secretary!" She smiles, making her way off of the stairs before coming over to you.

A warm fit of butterflies flutter in your heart, a helpless smile formed upon your face as the kind woman greeted you.

"Yes, that's me," you chuckle, and she immediately loops her arm in with yours.

"Well, it's so nice to finally meet you. I've heard good things about you coming from everyone else around here," she smiles, patting your hand that was looped with hers.

"Oh, yeah, it's nice to meet you too," You chuckle, though you really had no idea who this woman was.

The woman must've seen the confusion on your face as she gasped, facepalming herself. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry, let me introduce myself. I'm Padmé Amidala, the wife of this household."

You raise your eyebrows, shocked that someone so _young_ could be married to a guy who was probably in his sixties. That was, unless, he wasn't in his sixties.

"You're... Married to Cielo?" You ask, a bit confused.

She nods, giving you a soft smile. "Yes! Sorry, the last names must be confusing. I kept my name so that way I wouldn't get questioned about who I was married to while running for my political office," she chuckles nervously, her face falling down to the floor briefly, clearly not exactly proud of the type of crime she married into.

"Oh," was all you could say, not exactly sure how to continue the conversation.

"But that's alright! I love him, so that's all that matters." She smiles at you which brought another smile to your face, but her smile quickly falters.

"Kids!" Her eyes dart to the railing above you who seemed to be dangling some kind of toy from the railings. "Stop that! Go play in your room!"

"But--"

She narrowed her eyes at them. "Now! We have a new guest to our household, we don't need any broken bones while we welcome her here. "

You hear the kids sigh. "Yes ma'am."

You chuckle. "Are they yours?"

She smiles, shaking her head. "No, they're not mine, they're my sister's. She and her family live here with us, with just about every other person from this family."

You laugh, "That explains the big house."

"Yes, that and among other reasons. Now, if you come with me I'll show you the Don's study. I'm sure he's waiting."

You nod and walk side by side next to Padmé, going up the large staircase, talking small talk, and asking about your name and where you're from and all of the things above. Her bright and flowery personality seemed to calm your nerves that were itching in your skin. Anxiety was crawling through your stomach to meet this Don. You didn't want to be here, and in fact, did not want to mess up the first impression with your new boss, let alone a boss who works in owning people _favors_.

You arrived in the hall before the study, and as suspected there was a guard at the door, --even though the door was open--waiting for your arrival.

You look inside the room and see (what you assumed to be anyway) Cielo standing in front of his desk talking to a few men dressed in fancy silk suits, one of the men leaned down to press a familial kiss to his knuckles followed by a pat on his shoulder from the Don.

"Well," Padmé sighed, patting your hand before breaking the loop. "This is where I leave you. Make sure to let me know how it goes once it's over with, okay? I'll most likely be either in the living room downstairs or in my own study, which is in this same hall not too far from here, alright?"

You nod, feeling so grateful that she practically talked the nerves out of you. "Of course, yeah. Thank you, by the way."

"Oh, no problem! Let me know if you need anything else, alright?"

You nod and thank her once again and she gives you a reassuring smile before leaving.

Then, just as she left, you immediately felt that sinking feeling return to your stomach, as if there were a boulder laying there, taking up its entire presence of your nervous system.

Nevertheless, you pursue and make your way towards the door. You introduce yourself to the sturdy guard, and he in turn makes the announcement to the rest of the room that you arrived.

_Great. A big announcement. Because that's definitely going to calm my nerves._

"Don! Your secretary's here!"

The apparent Don looked up from both of the guys he was talking to and gestured them away, ordering them to leave the room.

They did as instructed, now finally giving you a full view of this mysterious Cielo Don.

The Don was young, for sure, possibly around Padmé's age. He had a wide sturdy frame, muscled arms fit nicely in his white collared shirt that was open and unbuttoned almost halfway down. Black slacks fit him perfectly, tall lean legs sat on his desk followed by shiny black dress shoes.

His wear was casual, unlike the other Dons you had seen who were usually in tightly fitted silk suits, which was something you found unusual about him. To continue his unorthodox attire, he had a leather glove on his right hand, unlike his left which was left completely bare except for a few gold rings. His hair also seemed to fit the casual bill; long, sandy, loose curls draped his strong jawline, perfectly plump lips curled into a smile when one of his men had said something.

Along his sharp brows was a scar that was painted perfectly over his brow and to his cheek, bright blue eyes darted from you and to someone who was speaking in the room.

You swallowed thickly, intimidated by his tall and lean build, and also slightly by how surprisingly attractive he was.

Yes, he was attractive, you weren't going to deny that even though he was married.

" _Benvenuta_ , _cara,_ " he welcomes in a soothing voice, an ever-so-charming smirk appeared on his face while he extended his gloved hand to you, to which you placed your hand into, and he sweetly brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss upon them.

Immediately, you felt like melting at his charms but you stood your ground.

Curiously, you raise an eyebrow and nod. " _Grazie,_ Don."

He lets go of your hand before gesturing to one of the cherry-red leathered armchairs.

You sit down and he leans off of his desk and makes his way to sit down behind his.

"Let's get to business then, shall we?" He gives you yet another charming smile before opening up a manilla folder full of files.

You nod at him and he returns his attention to the paperwork in front of him, his bare hand fiddled with a dull cigarette.

While he did so, you began to scan the room, eyeing just about every object and every man who stood in their respective seats or along the walls.

One man though caught your eye in particular.

He seemed to be hiding his face away from you. His big burly arms crossed over one another, his face faced down towards the wooden flooring, his eyes darting from you and the floor--clearly up to something, or hiding something.

You felt a pounding in your head. Something wasn't right about him. He looked familiar, all _too_ familiar. What was it about him?

Then, it dawned on you.

A quick flashback of your brother, in pain, wallowing on the floor while you sat and watched from a distance, screaming to help him, screaming to do something, but you were being held back by your father and one of his men.

He lied there, bullet after bullet after bullet was being pounded into his head, his torso being pumped with nothing but lead, blood was saturated in his clothes, his body jumping after every piece of metal that scraped through his body.

_It wasn't fair,_ it wasn't fair why they held you back, why they had killed him and not you. Why hadn't they gone after you either? Or your father for that matter?

You remember breaking down into tears and scrambling over to his body after the perpetrators had fled the scene. You remember trembling hands, lifting to his head, praying that by God's will that he was still alive, and that he had made it.

But of course, you knew that wasn't possible.

You remember being joined by your mother and other siblings, wallowing in pain over your brother.

You couldn't remember much after that, the pain was too much.

Though, you did remember looking up to see one of his killer's face.

That face you could _never_ forget. It was burned into your memory; a branding. It was _him._

" _You,_ " you seethed, hissing under your breath, nails dug into the leather upholstery of the chair.

He looked up from his position, eyes widened immediately.

"You killed my brother, you _fucking_ killed my brother!"

You lurched out of the chair, your feet immediately took you forward, your mind on nothing except wringing that man's throat in your hands, to get revenge for your brother's unjustified death.

Without thinking, you yelled and lurched out with your hands, anger boiling inside you, a raging storm hurled through your body giving you a new sense of passion in what you hadn't felt in years since he died--your hands moving to grab at the man but felt two pairs of hands grab at your arms, moving you back to your seat while you continued lashing out, pained sobs emitted from your mouth as you were taken back to sit down.

" _You murdered him_!" Now your anger was pointed towards the Don who stared at you with narrowed eyes, jaw clenched.

"I won't fucking work for you!" You struggled, jolting your hands out of their powerful grips, quickly making your way towards the door and out of it.

You knew this was too good to be true, all of it. This fucking family, this house, this property. This job. All of it. Of course, they were the ones that had to have killed your brother, of-fucking-course.

You stormed your way out of the room, walking quickly with hot tears streaming down your cheeks.

Quickly, you heard shoes beating along the floor, running to catch up to you but you didn't care. You kept on walking, not giving two shits about this family.

As you were about to turn down the stairs, you felt a strong leather grip catch your wrist, pulling you away from the stairs and twisting you around to face the Don himself.

"Listen to me," he growled, blue piercing eyes darting into yours. "You're part of an agreement, you can't leave this place even if you wanted to. "

You swallowed thickly, anger rose in your chest, your mind still clouded with fury. "No I fucking won't. You and your shitty ass family, killing my brother like that--"

"Are you hearing me?! You _can't_ leave! You're signed on to this contract so another war won't break out!" His voice is bellowing, surely drawing attention to your situation.

And sure enough, it did. You see faces around the house peeking out from doorways and some of his henchmen stop in their tracks just to tune into the conversation.

He sighs. "I'm not asking you, I'm telling you, _cara-_ -"

"Don't call me that," you sneer, unafraid of the Don who stood in front of you.

"Fine, but just know, that you fucking _are_ working for me. Whether you like it or not, your brother is dead, and you can't do anything about it. It was the middle of a _war,_ I'm sorry to tell you this but it was business," his jaw clenches, his tongue swirls around in his mouth pensively.

"Business?! You call my brother's death business?!" You try and pull your hand away from his grip but he keeps it right.

He chuckles darkly, shaking his head. "I do, I fucking do. If you remember, you were born into one of these families. You don't survive by playing nice."

You still your arm and huff, still angered at the Don who stood in front of you. You decide to keep quiet, not bothering to anger him any further. You knew your argument wouldn't get through his thick skull anyway.

"Thank you."

He stands up and turns around, dragging you back to his study where he throws you down back into your seat and he sits back down in his.

"Now, business."

You cross your arms, pursing your lips.

"As my secretary, I expect you to do everything I tell you to, and immediately. No hesitation, and no asking questions. Got it?" He tells you before taking a swig of what looked like brandy in a crystal glass.

You nod reluctantly.

"No, I wanna hear those words coming out of your mouth, loud and clear. _Got it?"_

You sigh. "Got it."

"Good. " He sets his drink back down. "I want you to make all of my calls for me, jot down times, dates, what my client may need and give me the list. I'll decide whether they're worth meeting or not and you'll call them back and tell them my decision. If they got a problem just tell them to call me directly."

One of his men grabs a pen and a yellow notepad and hands it to you.

You take the items and begin jotting down these notes.

"I expect you up and early every morning unless I say otherwise. I expect a cup of coffee in my study every morning before I get in here, and I want nothing more, nothing less. You get up when I get up, you retire when I retire. Alright?"

You nod. "Alright."

"Good. Now I also want you to deliver things for me. I'll usually send one of my men to do so, " he gestures around the room to them. "But just in case I want you on the side. It won't be anything dangerous. I'll probably just ask you to deliver mail or something."

You nod.

"And I also want you to take care of my bills for me. My wife or my _consigliere_ usually takes care of them, but it seems like we've all gotten too busy to do so lately, so we're giving the job to you," he breathes, taking a drag of his cigarette. "And if we need to, and can't hire a nanny in time, you're to take care of my sister-in-law's kids. Is everything understood?"

"Understood."

"Good. If there's anything else, I'll let you know. You're dismissed."


	4. I'll Do It

You huff and walk away from the Don's room, walking with a tight grip clenched around the notepad along with fast, hard, moving steps.

Your driven steps take you toward your bedroom where you roughly twist open the handle and open the door and slam it shut behind you.

For a minute, you still, closing your eyes and breathe in through your nose and slowly out through your mouth.

_In for five... 1... 2... 3... 4... 5... Exhale for five... 1... 2... 3... 4... 5..._

Your hands balled into fists. Sheer, frustration coursed through your veins but slowly began to calm down as you exhaled. God, this family was getting to you already.

You look down and see the yellow notepad and pull it apart from your chest and examine the notes, looking down the lined paper until you see the paper wrinkled, the paper gathered around your knuckles from how tightly you were clutching on to it. You raise an eyebrow and sigh, tossing it onto the sturdy, wood oak desk that stood next to your left.

You couldn't believe it. Here you were, stuck in a house with murderers. Murderers of your brother, and probably more family members that had fallen victim to Don Cielo's hand.

You run a hand down your face. Did your father even know that Cielo even killed your brother? If so, why did he bother sending you here in the first place? You understood that you were apart of a contract, apparently, but why would your father be so willing to let you go? He had begged you to be there.

You decide that it was probably better for you to think about those problems later and deal with the situation at hand.

You look around your designated room and find it to be quite nice. To your left, lies the large oak desk with a signature cherry red leather seat under it, along with a small trash bin next to the desk. Beside the desk stood a basket, probably a place to dispose of your dirty laundry.

You turn your head and look to the middle of the room and see a full-sized bed with a white comforter contrast to that of a dark, oak, wooden headboard carved with intricate detailing. Next to the bed stood small nightstands, each with a gold lamp on top and an old phone on top of the one stand to the left.

Then, to the right of the bed against the wall stood a vanity, also matching the furniture that lied in the rest of the room, except for the gold leafing that was carved intricately into the sides of the mirror. And across from the bed was a large wooden wardrobe.

You had to hand it to the Cielo's, though. As much as you despised them, they knew how to decorate.

You turn around and look down at the suitcases that lied on the floor next to you where Angelo had promised to bring them to.

You kneel down and open up the suitcase, deciding to put your clothes away, since you would be staying here, apparently.

You move across the room with ease, putting away your clothes nicely. You were surprised you weren't throwing them into the wardrobe since you felt so frustrated at the Don and his family.

You take a hanger and drape a blouse over it when suddenly you hear a knock coming from the door.

"Hello?" You call, hanging up the shirt.

"Hey... It's Padmé. May I come in?" You hear softly, and immediately your stomach twists with regret about calling the Cielo's awful.

"Yeah, come in."

With a careful twist of the handle, the door opens with Padmé peeking through the entrance, she offers you a warm smile, her thick locks of curly brown hair move gently in front of her face, her slim figure moves inside the room with her shutting the door firmly behind her, the lock clicking.

"Hey... I just came to check up on you to see if you're alright," she says sweetly, approaching you.

You shrug, hanging up the shirt on to the rack inside of the wardrobe. You bend down to grab another one.

"I'm alright, thanks," you mutter, the bitter taste of the Don's name still hung on your tongue.

Padmé nods, her face hanging low. You take notice of this and turn to face her, looking at the woman who fiddled with her fingernails, biting the inside of her lip. She looked hesitant, but you weren't one to press on.

You turn your head back to face the wardrobe to continue.

"Wow, you have so many pretty clothes," she chuckles, looking at all of the open suitcases on to the floor. "I'm sure Mancini spoils you and your siblings."

You chuckle at that, turning your head to look at all of the clothes folded neatly in their holdings. "Yeah, he does. He has been ever since we were little. I don't really like it when he does that because I know where the money comes from... But, I must admit, it's nice."

"Hmm," she nods, pausing. She looks up at you. "Mind if I help?"

You smile, gesturing your hand to her. "Please, be my guest."

She picks up your clothes gently as if the precious fabric would rip under her touch, though you were sure it wouldn't, simply because the woman's frame was ever so small and dainty.

She approaches you and stands next to you and picks up a hanger. "Y'know... I feel the same way, about Anakin and... All of... _This_." She makes a gesture to the article of clothing before hanging it up.

You raise an eyebrow at her. "Sorry? Anakin?"

"Oh, yeah, Don Cielo. Sorry, I thought you knew his first name."

You turn to pick up more clothes and grab a hanger. _Anakin._ The name sounded pretty, rolling off the tongue nicely. It surely fits him, his appearance, anyway. You weren't sure that it really matched his personality, though.

"Ah, okay."

"Anyway," she sighs, "I knew what I was signing up for when I married him. I'm a woman in politics, so I knew I had to be secretive and careful. But... I didn't know I had to be so secretive of all of... Well, everything. The murder, the lies, the little side jobs, even protecting his friends... It's just so much."

You widen your eyes, scoffing at the amount of pressure Padmé was put on. You knew this business came with guilt and remorse, but to have to put up with it like that sounded awful.

"I'm so sorry about that," you tell her, and for a minute she meets your gaze. Soft, brown eyes lingered for a bit until she cast them down to look back down at the clothes.

"Yeah, well, comes with the marriage, I guess," She mutters. "But see, I tell him all the time about how tired I am of it, and he just apologizes quickly and says," she holds up her fingers, air quoting him, "Don't worry, I'll do better, I'll take care of everyone, don't worry," she finishes with a mocking voice and you can't help but let out a giggle.

"And then, when he does apologize, he always completes it with fancy gifts or flowers on my desk at work, or whatever," she huffs, hanging the hanger on the railing quite harshly, the metal clinking with one another. "Which is why I was tired of _this_. " She gestures to the fancy material.

"I get that, I do. My father would shower us in gifts all the time whenever he and my mother got into a fight to reassure us nothing bad had happened." You smile at her, hoping to reassure her feelings about being frustrated. You felt for her, you really did. This life was evil within itself, and it was nice to share a sense of morality with someone else.

She puts a hand on your shoulder. "Thank you, so much. I know that we just met, and I'm sorry for burdening you with all of these problems but it's just nice to share these feelings with someone who thinks similar to me."

"Don't worry about it, I'll be here to talk whenever you need to," you smile at her and she smiles back.

"Yeah, okay. _Grazie_. I appreciate that."

You nod. " _Prego_. "

"Okay, well, " she sighs in relief and removes her hand from your shoulder. "I'm sure the Don is waiting for me. I told him I was going to talk to you for a bit, and he's expecting me... So... "

You're about to say something but are quickly interrupted when there's a solid knock on the door.

"That's probably him," she mutters before quickly changing her down expression to a more cheerful one, plastering a smile onto her lips. "Come in!"

Sure enough, the Don reveals himself in the doorway when he opens up the door, leaving just enough room for him to stand there with his sturdy frame taking up most of the room in the doorway.

"Hey, you ready?" He asks in his smooth voice, something you found so charming earlier had now made your jaw clench.

She nods sweetly at him. "Mmm-hmm, was just coming to talk to you."

He nods and smiles softly. "Okay, good." He looks up from her and looks back at you, making eye contact briefly before turning back to Padmé. "I'll be in my office." With that and one last glance to you, he turns to leave.

Padmé sighs, her face immediately drops the act and you chuckle.

"Okay, I guess I'll see you later," she sighs, making her way to the door.

You shrug. "Yeah, see ya. "

You wave goodbye to her and she leaves, leaving you in your pile of clothes and things you needed to put away.

When you came here, you weren't necessarily shocked at Padmé's hospitality. Though you did get the feeling from her that she felt out of place, and when she told you she felt that way, you hadn't been too surprised. You thought she was simply too nice to tolerate a family of liars and sinners.

You move to unpack another suitcase, deciding to move on from the clothes to unpack some miscellaneous items, except you were interrupted when you hear a ringing.

You spin around to see the phone on the nightstand vibrating on top of its receiver.

You raise an eyebrow, wondering why in the world someone would be calling to your bedroom.

You step over the suitcases and make your way towards the phone and pick up the phone, slowly putting it up to your ear.

It was silent on the other end.

Not knowing what to say, you cautiously answer with, "Hello?"

" _Bambina_?"

You pull away from the phone, rolling your eyes. How did your father manage to get ahold of this number?

"...Yes?"

"Oh, thank goodness. Mancini and I want to talk to you."

You scoff. You want to interject but before you can speak you hear Mancini's gravelly voice over the phone.

"Oh yes, hello, niece."

You bite the inside of your cheek. Mancini was the last person you wanted to talk to. "Hi... Uncle..."

"We want to talk to you, about something. "

"Well, do it while I'm here because I'm not going to stay much longer," you shoot back, stressed fingers finding the chord to the phone and twisting them.

"Okay, your father and I have been talking for a while now. Much longer than you think. Prior to the contract. "

Great. Of course, they called because they wanted a favor from you.

"Go on."

"Listen... We've been tracking Cielo and his movements for awhile now. We also know that his goons aren't tracking the phone right now because they're in the middle of their dinner break, and the other group is too busy with their roles to focus on the phones."

You blinked. Tracking Cielo? Even after the contract? This was surely breaking something, especially since they knew about the phones and the schedules.

"But, to my point. We're asking, for a favor. For your brother. "

 _Fuck._ Of course. Your hand balls around the wire and your stomach begins to fizz with anger.

"You're talking about revenge, aren't you? You know revenge won't bring him back," you snap, almost wanting to tear the chord from the phone.

"Yes, of course, " you hear a clattering on the phone and you suspect your father is on the other end now.

" _Bambina_ , it's for your brother. Do it for _him_. Besides, we don't even really want you to do anything too drastic."

You huff. The brother card. He's been playing it for a while now. Family meant everything to you, despite all of your crude family history, your family meant a lot to you.

You shift your foot. "I don't know..."

" _Please_ , listen. We just want you to spy on the Don. Give us reports. Feed into his relationship, get something out of him. We need to know more about him."

"You want me to interfere with his personal life so you can what? Get revenge?"

"Yes! Exactly."

You think back to how the Don treated you, and several others and how your brother's death went unjustified, even though a contract of peace was discussed.

"We'll give you time, _bambina_. We still need planning, and we need trust from the Don. You're our only way in. We've sent guys there before but they just can't do it. Now you're his secretary and--"

"Stop." You sigh. You look around the room as if to make sure no one was listening.

"I'll do it."


End file.
